Friday, March 30, 2007

We post this “State” classic because friendly Fagat reader Steve sent us a clip of “Old French Whore” to cheer us up while we were sick, but we couldn’t figure out how to post it. “The Jew, The Italian and The Redhead Gay” is an appropriate substitute for many reasons, not the least of which because we also live in Alphabet City (with a Jew!). But mostly we’re posting it because this week we’ve been having trouble thinking of funny ways to end up things we’ve written. This sketch is a good reminder that it happens to the best of us.

Single gays out there - have you ever noticed that you never feel more alone than when you're sick?

See, we've had a fever all week. Even though we've been able to take some time off work, we've been enjoying it about as much as a toothy blowjob. Not only do we hate feeling shitty and getting nothing done, but we can't even do the things that make us feel happy or sexy, like go to the gym or out on the town. We can't drink, we're not hungry so we don't want to cook, and we can't even cruise on the subway because we know we look like hell.

Instead, we sit around the apartment while our roommates are at work or out to dinner, reading and trying not to incessantly masturbate. As time goes by, the fact that there is no one to come in and spoon us soup in bed (or spoon us in bed, period) becomes more and more underscored. For the first time in our lives, we can relate to how FHC feels every day (thanks for the malaria, btw).

Thursday, March 29, 2007

We found this fairly innocuous story on the San Francisco Chronicle's Daily Dish website. It's about how Heather Mills asked for a gay partner on "Dancing with the Stars," because so many dating rumors have swirled around her since her split with Paul McCartney.

But Mills didn't get her wish, "Jonathan turned up and I said, 'Well, he doesn't look gay,' and I said, 'Are you gay?' And he said, 'No, I'm not, I'm married. ...' He's just a great person."

Wow, you can be a straight person and still be great?

Anyway, it's sort of a lame story, until you read the comments. Unlike the half wits who see fit to post on PerezHilton or the Us Weekly blog, the readers of the Chronicle have something witty to say:

* No wonder she's missing a leg. Every time she opens her mouth, she shoves her foot in deeper.* "Uni-peg looking for bi dancer. -HM."* When asked about Mills' comments, Roberts replied, "Yeah, well I wanted a partner with two legs, but what are ya gonna do?"* Half of California wants a gay guy, Heather. The other half of California is gay.* What a twat!

We wonder what we've come to now that we've begun to think that the mere use of the word "twat" is clever.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

When we were in AAA, we only hit the ball one time. We remember it vividly – it was a ground ball that went hopping down the third baseline. The shock of the connection that ran from the bat through our arm is still vibrating in our minds. We were so shocked when it happened that we just watched it roll away, rather than running to first base. By the time we came to our senses and began to move (for sure our father was hopping up and down and hollering at us to get a move on – luckily most of our memories are silent) it was too late. We were tagged out at first.

See, we were so bad at baseball that we consistently hit the tee rather than the ball in Tee-Ball. We were fast, sure, but we had to bank on pitches thrown out of the strike zone for us to get on base. The only things we liked about the sport were the stirrup pants. Of course, our father forced us to play, so we continued to do so for years (let’s be clear – we’re not mad at dad for making us play sports. We just needed to figure out the ones that we were good at – i.e. ones that did not involve balls).

We were so bad at Little League that we began to try to distract ourselves. Since we were completely uncoordinated, they always put us in center or right field. Out there, among the grass and dandelions (oh the dandelions!) we could pretend we were in a field in the middle of the woods – perhaps in the field from the beginning of “The Sound of Music!” We’d spin around, we’d dance, we’d sing. There are even home videos of those damning, damning experimentations. In those moments, we decided that we’d rather frolic than compete.

Poor dad. Even though he never said anything into the microphone, you can practically hear his thoughts as he zooms in on us way out there, skipping merrily in a circle.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

We get a lot of junk in our Fagats Gmail account (come on people, let us know what you're thinking!). Every once in a while we get some fan mail, and then, once in a blue moon, we get a piece of genius.

We just got an email for a website that sells pearl necklaces for men. The company is called "Circuit Party Jewelers" (tagline - "Life isn't always a party - celebrate the moments that are"). Now, occasionally we joke about how gays used to like to wear their mother's pearls when they were young. But frankly, we've never had any interest in wearing them as an adult. But after seeing these babies, we are really excited for them to hit the streets:Pearl necklaces that look like more like the sexual act than the piece of jewelry! What could be more amazing?

First of all, a belated thank-you to everyone who made it to our birthday party last week. We had a very fun time - several people hooked up, the police were called, and one boy fell down the stairs and got a black eye. Nearly all of our friends came, and also some random scary people who wandered in from the PATH on Christopher Street. And thanks to Dylan for bringing many of the Varsity Gays to round out the group!

But one odd thing happened. One well-meaning friend of ours brought a cute boy to give to us as a "birthday present" (common practice among late twentysomething gays). As we were introduced, our friend said, "Happy Birthday! Here's your gift. Isn't he cute?"

As the night went on, we didn't take advantage of him (though he was indeed cute), and eventually we passed out after everyone left. The twist in the story (no, the gift of ass wasn't it) is that we later found out that we and the boy had a longterm ex-boyfriend in common.

This is a thing straight people never have to deal with. The ol' "wake up in the morning, see a picture on the wall, and realize that you and the boy in bed with you have probably popped the same back pimples" routine. Should we be used to it by now? Should it not bother us anymore? Because it still gives us the willies. Sex with an ex of your ex? Is that the gay way?

We're just not sure we're ready. Maybe on our 27th birthday. Barrett Foa, call us in a year!

Monday, March 26, 2007

So last night Elton John was everything we wanted, and more. He played some of his greatest hits, and some of his more obscure songs. Bill Clinton introduced him, and Whoopi Goldberg later came out on stage with (a peculiarly punchy) Robin Williams. He didn't perform any duets (not even our karaoke go-to), but just let his voice and piano stand for itself. He closed with "Your Song," and dedicated it to New York City.

We saw Pierce Brosnan in the audience shaking his hips, and we spied Kiefer Sutherland getting rejected by security outside of the VIP section (as you would imagine, Jack did NOT take it well). We said hi to Clinton backstage, were ignored by David Walliams and got snapped at by Sharon Osbourne. Our favorite celeb sighting, however, was "Will & Grace's" Eric McCormack, who was sitting a few rows ahead of us. He spent the last few songs standing in his chair, playing the air drums, which we used to think was the only thing more embarrassing than air guitar. We were proven wrong, though, as his air drums quickly turned to air piano.

Quite frankly, we were never really sure if we believed that he was straight. Now we do.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

We have to go to bed soon, but we could not let the Hell's Kitchen New York Times article go unrecognized. (Don't even get us started about THIS.)

In Under the Rainbow, (apparently straight) writer David Shaftel touches upon a subject we've been dealing with for years. Apparently, some gay people live in Hell's Kitchen (or NoChe, Hell's Kitchenette, Hell's Kitty or Hellsea. The gays are so good with nicknames!). We've been wrestling with the idea that HK might be New York's new gay mecca, but this article settles it. If it's in the New York Times, it must be LONG over.

Despite all that, we loved the article, and not just because of the overeager graphic designer who stuck the random rainbow below the dek. We loved it because it is centered upon a boy we know, Addison S., though his roommate Justin O., was mysteriously left out. We loved it because it called Addison's friends "young, modish" gays, and his hair "rakish." We loved it because it had a photo of a shirtless man with the words "porn bingo" in the caption, and because it called HK "less a scene than simply a neighborhood."

We found it interesting that they trotted out the idea that HK's lack of a "cruising spot" like the Big Cup was to its detriment. We wonder - isn't that a good thing? Shouldn't we be glad that new gay 'hoods don't need a place where people go to look for sex? Can't we just live calmly like normal people, in a safe place?

And this, we thought, was the best part:

“My boyfriend and I will hold hands and walk arm in arm down Ninth Avenue,” [Brian] Orter said, “but we won’t do it down Eighth or 10th. It’s still kind of sketchy.” Even on Ninth, he finds the picture mixed. “We’ll walk down Ninth between 43rd and 53rd Streets holding hands,” he said, “then after 53rd, we’re like, ‘Ooh, doesn’t feel so good over here,’ so we’ll stop holding hands.”

This is something very real that we can relate to. From block to block in the city, it sometimes feels good to hold hands with your boyfriend, and sometimes it feels scary. We have always been aware of this, and we try to force ourselves to hold hands with boys no matter how uncomfortable we feel. Sometimes it's the little acts of bravery that are the most important.

We can't wait for the Times to tackle other pressing gay issues, like Post Coital Cleanup and Dance Floor Erections!

Friday, March 23, 2007

Okay - linking to this article is really just an excuse to tell all of you that we just got a VIP ticket to Elton John's 60th Birthday concert on Sunday! Just before our own birthday! We don't care what anyone says - we have loved Elton for as long as we listened to music. Last year we saw him perform at a benefit, and when he sang "Philadelphia Freedom" we nearly squirted.

See, when we were very young, our brother tricked us into joining Columbia House in order to get himself two free CDs. We ordered our first six free discs, and they included Melissa Ethridge's "Yes I Am," Bryan Adams' "Waking Up The Neighbors," The Cranberries' "Everybody Else Is Doing It So Why Can't We," "The Bodyguard" soundtrack, and finally, Elton John's "The One." It may just be his worst CD ever, but we loved it, and then we discovered his older albums and were hooked for good.

We're getting old. Unlike you, who are still a dewy young flower poking your blossom out into the sun (you're always poking that blossom, aren't you?), we are showing signs of age. You were born in the great gaybie boom of 1982. We, who were born in 1981, however, are already past our prime. Just look at us: Britney Spears, Rachel Bilson, Jennifer Hudson, Anna Kournikova, MTV.... We're basically all washed up. Our moments in the sun have turned into sungrown melanomas - because as loath as we are to admit it, this year we turn 26.

As we've sagged through the last year, we've noticed some changes we want to warn you about. Our tolerance for hangovers has steadily declined, as has our tolerance for general idiocy, and lint. We obsess less over getting laid, and more over getting a dog. (Okay, we still obsess over getting laid, but we think getting a dog will help). Masturbation has become like "Law & Order," still fascinating but in the end repetitive and predictable. We don't care if people notice when we lean to fart. Our hairline has begun to ebb. And when we date men, we strangely find ourselves wondering what our parents will think of them, and how they will look no more than two inches away from us, eyes one the same level, in the New York Times Weddings and Celebrations section.

Getting old is fucked up.

But Fishwatch, we don't want you to be afraid of growing up, as we once were. One day soon you will turn 25, and then, a year later, you too will be forced over the precipice into the craggy ravine of adulthood. 26, after all, is the age at which you are no longer a child. By then you will probably realize that anyone under 24 really isn't dateable, no matter how much lightly he bounces when you throw him onto the rug. Because a lot happens in the years between when we were your age, and now. We've had over 100,000 visitors at the Fagat Guide. We've dated at least 5 really handsome and smart men, and hooked up with at least 25 who weren't necessarily as handsome or smart. All of that, combined with the wear-and-tear of age, has made us wiser, kinder and inexplicably chunkier in the lower back region.

So Fishwatch, we will pass on into adulthood ahead of you, carving a path of broken hearts and mended hernias as we go. Don't cry for us - we are no longer afraid.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

We feel like we should comment on “somehow made it to the Top 10 of American Idol” contestant Sanjaya Malakar, since he, like us, is (1) Indian (OK, partly) and (2) a singer (OK, not really). There might be a third thing we have in common, but this blog doesn’t out people, especially when they are in high school, OK? (But the hula dancing was a bit much).

Anyway, as much as we want to root for young Sanjaya, we too are curious how he has survived two weeks so far considering he is just not all that great at singing. (It must be the hair). However, as unsettled as we are with him giving Indian boys who sing a bad name, we are not about to give up food. Unlike some people.

Yes, a girl has announced on youtube that she is going on hunger strike until Sanjaya is eliminated. We hope for her sake he stays on for at least 3 to 4 more weeks. Was that mean? We've never said this blog isn't that.

Now, everyone in America watched Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, didn’t they? Most kids had different favorite parts. Some liked the fun videos, like the one that explained how to make orange crayons. Some liked the parts when Mr. Rogers did household chores, like feed the fish. Others liked just the parts where he was chatting with the camera. We used to really relate to the part where he’d smoothly but prissily put on his bright zip up cardigans. What a fagatron.

But no doubt the gayest part of the show was the Land of Make Believe. Do you remember it? When the little trolley would leave his living room and go through the tunnel to the wonderful land of puppets and people? Admit it, when you were little, you had your own land of make believe, where you could escape from bullies, big brothers, and moms who didn’t understand the importance of sharing pearls.

Man, was the Land of Make Believe queer. Until Xerxes in “300,” fussy King Friday was the reigning queen of camp. “Butt Spelunker, I presume?”

You probably related most to Daniel Striped Tiger. He was a just little bit shy and withdrawn, like you, but he was also the wisest little boy in the Land of Make Believe. His voice was high pitched and fey, but his gestures gentle. When he had something to say – people really listened. Isn’t that all you wanted when you were young? For people to listen and understand you? To be young and cuddly forever? To live in a clock?And Lady Elaine, the curator of the Museum-Go-Round? The sparks of faggotry burning inside each of us were fanned by her prickly campiness. If any of you young drag queens have anyone to blame for your misinterpretation of the eyebrow, it’s Lady Elaine. Those pursed lips! The perpetual bossiness! The overuse of rouge!

In the movie of her life, she’d clearly be played by Glen Close with a hand up her ass. And what could be gayer than that?

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

So you know we're from Maine, right? No? Well, anyway, yeah - we grew up by a rocky beach outside of Portland. It was somehow both beautiful and plain at the same time. We loved everything that came along with it - but we didn't realize some things were missing. We went to only one Bar Mitzvah when we were thirteen, for example, and the two black kids in our entire public school were twins and only technically halfrican.

In our home state, stories like this are few and far between. Basically, a rich coastal heiress ADOPTED her lesbian girlfriend to ensure smooth inheritance and property sharing. Maine, despite having queer havens like Ogunquit and Portland, doesn't have advanced protection for gays on that front. Yet adults can adopt other adults.

The couple broke up, and then the heiress died, and now everything's up in the air. It's going to be a big case (we know this because it was one of the most emailed articles in the New York Times!) and both sides don't even seem to know what's going to happen.

We can't wait to hear how it turns out. Because the question of whether or not to adopt the men we have sex with has really been keeping us up at night.

Monday, March 19, 2007

We love Las Vegas. It's like the world capital of camp. We decided when we get older and marry rich, we're going to open a big gay casino bathhouse here and call it Gomorrah.

But we were flying all day and couldn't blog. Which prevented us from directing you to The Malcontent's March Gayness bracket, where you could have voted for us (or friends FHC's, Vividblurry, or Aatom Bomb). Not that we had a chance - we were up against Towleroad in the first round. Since Andy was probably the top seed, clearly we were ranked pretty low. (Meanwhile, did we tell you we're leading in our office March Madness pool? Go Go Gadget Gayness!)

Meanwhile Elton and Celine are both on vacation this week and we are one PO'ed pansy.

Anyway, if anyone knows gays here, let us know. We need to make friends. The kind of friends that enjoy business suites at Caesar's Palace with king-sized beds, RainShower shower heads, and flatscreen televisions next to the jacuzza bathtub. You know that kind.

Friday, March 16, 2007

FW: Hi, so my New Yorker started going to my sister’s apartment for some reason.CN: Did she move?FW: Yes, she used to live in my apartment and so filled out a change of address form, but she said that the actual magazine label had her address on it, it’s not a post office sticker.CN: Hmmm...well it looks like the post office told us to send all the magazines there. I can go ahead and fix that. Do you get anything else besides the New Yorker from us?FW: I think just Vanity Fair.CN: So who gets Architectural Digest?FW: Oh yeah, that’s me too.CN: And Men’s Vogue?FW: Yes, that is also me.CN: Details?FW: Riiiight, yeah, that’s mine.CN: But regular Vogue, that is your sister's right?FW: (silence).CN: Hello, sir?FW: Um...no it’s mine.CN: Ooookaaay. Would you like to gift it to her?FW:.....No.CN:. Alright......I’ve gone and changed all the addresses back to yours.FW: Thanks.

Last night we went to the National Gay and Lesbian Journalists Association Headlines and Headliners benefit at the ABC News studios in Times Square. That's a lengthy way of saying we spent the evening hanging out with a bunch of fags in suits.

When we walked into the room, they were awarding this cute high schooler with a journalism scholarship for college. The MC explained that the boy's proud mom had heard about the scholarship competition and entered him, at which point, the kid grabbed the mike and said, "In my defense, I was very busy watching 'Project Runway.'"

Oh, the places you'll blog.

Anyway, when we entered a few people turned around to see us come in and gasped. We gave a winning smile. Then Charlie Gibson, who had entered immediately behind us, brushed by. Oops.

We go to this event every year, but we must say, this is the first time we've ever had fun. We ran into a bunch of oldfriends, and made some new ones. We got hit on by a handful of elder gay statesmen, and we caught up with fag hag extraordinaire Rita Cosby. Were really bummed that we didn't see Natalie Morales, who until last night was our hero (that hair! that smile! that secret confidence that comes from knowing that you are one day going to assassinate Meredith Vieira!).

But then we found our NEW hero, gay CNN anchor Tom Roberts. Holy. Fucking. Shit. What a hottie. In a room full of well-groomed men with surprisingly good skin, he put everyone to shame. That hair! That smile! That secret sorrow that comes from knowing that your sexuality will prevent you from ever getting to the networks!

Anyone know who he's dating? We need to find that person and sic Natalie Morales on him.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

We've been rooting for Hillary Clinton thus far in the pre-dawn hours of the presidential election (well, Bigmouth has. Fishwatch no doubt has a much more educated and nuanced stance. Bigmouth just wants to see more pearls behind the podium), but her latest move has really given us pause.

Hill, when asked whether homosexuality was immoral yesterday, said this:

“Well, I’m going to leave that to others to conclude.” She added, “I’m very proud of the gays and lesbians I know who perform work that is essential to our country, who want to serve their country, and I want make sure they can.”

She later in the day issued a statement saying she was against the hateful statements of Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman General Peter Pace about gays being immoral. But the mental pause, in which she was either too tired or too unsure to calculate what answer would be best for her polling, is obviously what's upsetting here. She might as well have said, "well, we haven't written that talking point yet."

We're all for our president being a cold, calculating bitch. But we also want a president who actually believes in some things, even some controversial things. Even George Bush would have had an honest answer to that question.

We're sure this, like everything that happens so early, will get buried by events in the months to come. Most people will forget, but we have a feeling the gays will remember. Many of us are one-issue voters, and if there's another Democratic candidate who stands squarely with us, no matter how many HRC dinners she goes to, she won't win the vote.

We still have entire episodes of "Hey Dude" memorized, lady. Us gays? We never forget.

"I have heard from many of my friends in the gay community that my responseyesterday to a question about homosexuality being immoral sounded evasive. Myintention was to focus the conversation on the failed don't ask don't tellpolicy. I should have echoed my colleague Senator John Warner's statementforcefully stating that homosexuality is not immoral because that is what Ibelieve."

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Last night was one of those inadvertent nights at Beige where all the people that you like show up, and all the people that you are afraid of stay home. On nights like those, it turns out to be young, drunk and fun, rather than old, sagging and creepy. We arrived to find Jimmy J and Fishwatch holding court in the back, with Nick D. and LL doing cruise laps around the perimeter. Then, to our delight, Dylan showed up (sadly sans nonsexual boyfriend Eric S.), as did Willem D., Erik B., Kristian L., Corey J., George S., Gogo M., and Monte A. de L. We also met Patrick, whose last name we don’t know, but who has somehow dated everyone we’ve ever F’ed. Call us!

Our very favorite gentle giant (well, tied with Clay P.) Justin C. then showed up, creating a stir large enough to cause one random dude to whip out his cock in the middle of the patio. This delighted us to no end. Everyone was trying to hook up with one another and the party ended at Mr. Black, which apparently has a new Tuesday party. It was a big day for our friends, as it was the first time one of us has ever made out with GoGo M., as unlikely as that may sound. In the words of LL, he’s like the Tinsley Mortimer of gay!

Last week's edition of WYAG was a little late. We're going to try to keep it on Wednesdays from now on.

Remember "Teen Witch"? It was the best in a series of girl empowerment movies that came out in the late eighties. If you ever saw it, it was probably because you picked it up in the local video store (ours was called "Home Vision") which only had shitty, faded VHS tapes and a limited selection of new releases. In those pre-Blockbuster days, you'd wander the aisles, looking for whatever movie involved the most parent pranks, teen magic or figure skating. (As opposed to now, when you wander the aisles looking for shiny new DVDs with pictures of Eastern European boys looking wistful.)

"Teen Witch" had the added bonus of musical and dance numbers, which set it apart from the pack. The above clip is probably the best, and most memorable, number.

Note the name of the song, which uses the phrase "Top That" as a euphemism for hooking up with a boy.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Mario Vasquez has been accused of sexually harassing an “American Idol” employee while he was a contestant on the show. He allegedly touched himself in a bathroom in front of another guy. We haven’t always appreciated the way Vasquez has always denied being gay, despite his longterm “close friendship” with a male stylist at Warren Tricomi. Yet this seems like a very strange, very unlikely, very late accusation (didn’t he quit the show over two years ago?). We were hoping that if and when Mario did come out, if he is indeed gay at all, that it would be voluntarily and proudly – not through some skeevy lawsuit.

On a related note, we just took a Sexual Harassment Seminar at work and boy, are we sexually harassed CONSTANTLY. No one has ever masturbated outside of our toilet stall, and if they had, it would probably be at least biologically interesting. But if any of our Human Resources people ever read the interoffice memos between us and the other gays… yowza! Having gay co-workers by definition – and practice – basically means you’re going to have your boundaries crossed. (Memo to David the Latin Custodian – even if you are not gay, you can cross our boundaries any time).

We were wondering if this could potentially be a bad, thing, as there have been moments of slight discomfort at work with gay higher-ups. (Is it our fault for dressing so preppily, which for gays has the same aphrodisiacal effect as a girl dressing sluttily?) And we imagine that it could be worse elsewhere – at the Congressional Page dorm, for example, or Logo.

At the same time, if we couldn’t be raunchy with our co-workers, how would we find out about the intimate sexual proclivities of the rest of gayNewYorkmedia?

And more importantly, where would we get all of our pedophilia jokes??

What's most interesting to us is not that Fox viewers would be so uncomfortable with man-on-man touching that they would want to hear about it. It's that Fox News has SO LITTLE TO TALK ABOUT that they do an entire segment on this cheap Jenny 8. Lee knockoff.

The AP reports that some gay neighborhoods are worried they are losing their identity. We were thinking about this very issue this weekend.

See, we've been under some pressure lately to declare that the East Village is over.

It's a notion that's offensive to our very core, as we have lived in our beloved EV since we moved to New York four years ago. When we arrived, Boysroom was the city's destination for hot raunch. The Cock was the dowager empress of dive. And Starlight, dear Starlight... (moment of silence) ...you were simply better than the rest. It's not that your bathrooms were too small, it's that your dreams were too big.

But now Starlight and the original Cock are gone, and the watered down version of Boysroom on 13th Street seems to be where rainbows go to die. Sure, there's still the Phoenix, Urge, the Cock-in-the-Hole, and Nowhere, but can they possibly compete with Vlada, Posh and The Ritz in Hell's Kitchen, which are newer, sleeker, bigger, and draw younger crowds?

Lately we've been worried about our charming little ghetto, where the dogs wear hoodies and the homeless know only to ask you for cigarettes. We've railed against Hell's Kitchen in the past, but is it really the future of gay in the city? Are we, as a culture, really going to move...uptown?

Then, on Saturday night, we went to Eastern Bloc. It's always been a sentimental place for us, as its predecessor, Wonderbar, was the first gay bar we ever visited, when we were 18. Eastern Bloc had a rocky start, but it's really hit its stride. The music is poppy and fun, the crowd is very similar to Starlight's, the beers are cheap and the atmosphere is unpretentious. As we looked around on Saturday, we saw to our surprise that Eastern Bloc passed the ultimate gay bar test: it was full of boys we'd bone. Lots of them, all over the place.

And it gave us hope. Sure, it may not be as hot as Vlada, or as trendy as The Ritz. But so long as the East Village is still mustering up some viable ass, we will not declare it over. We will NOT cede the young gay ghetto title to any other neighborhood, no matter how many infused vodkas or twinky Loyola graduates they may have. You hear us, Hell's Kitchen? If you want the title, you'll have to wrench it from our tattooed, cigarette-and-DNA-stained hands.

Monday, March 12, 2007

You may have noticed that Fagats has undergone yet another facelift, and this time it's actually for the better! As Fishwatch and Bigmouth are completely inept in all dealings with the Interweb, the saintly and sultry Frenchbenj offered to help us out. We love all of the French, (a handful of handsome single Parisians and one young couple in particular could tell you how much), but now we love Frenchbenj best of all.

FHC, we're sorry, but the last time we loved YOU best of all, we got that rash.

Most people think "Panama City Beach" or "Europe" when they think Spring Break, but our destination of choice this year was Winston-Salem, North Carolina. For the most part, the trip has been as uneventful as our lasttrip here, with one exception.

That was way harsh Mom. Meanwhile, we have been camped out at the window dying for a glimpse of said gays, we've even jogged by shirtless, stopped to stretch in front of their mailbox (even bent over to stretch our hamstrings! BENT OVER!!!), and NOTHING. These are truly a special breed of gay, but we are resolved to make contact, give them the gay gaze, yell at them for giving our people a bad name, and then go home and make our own bundt cake.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

We really liked what Peggy Noonan wrote in her journal column this weekend. At the beginning of a column where she talked about censorship, she laid out pretty simply what's been happening over the last couple of weeks with mouthy pundits:

Here is what has been said the past week or so that sparked argument: Bill Maher, on HBO, said a lot of lives would be saved if Vice President Cheney had died, and Ann Coulter, at a conservative political meeting, suggested John Edwards is a "faggot."

She was trying to be funny and get a laugh. He was trying to startle and get applause.

What followed was the predictable kabuki in which politically active groups and individuals feigned dismay as opposed to what many of them really felt, which was grim delight. Conservatives said they were chilled by Mr. Maher's comments, but I don't think they were. They were delighted he revealed what they believe is at the heart of modern liberalism, which is hate.

Liberals amused themselves making believe they were chilled by Ms. Coulter's remarks, but they were not. They were delighted she has revealed what they believe is at the heart of modern conservatism, which is hate.

She goes on to say something about your grandmother, which makes sense, because if your grandmother lived in DC, she'd probably hang out with Peggy Noonan. But that's beside the point. The point is, so much of punditry these days is dedicated to making the other side look evil rather than making one's own side look good.

We can't think of a funny way to end this post, so we'll leave you with another terrible joke from a co-worker:

Friday, March 09, 2007

There are many toys that you wanted as a child. You would see them on television, and immediately begin begging your parents to run to Toys 'R' Us. And sometimes, they would. Examples include Fireball Island, Lite Brite, Go Bots, Crocodile Mile, Teddy Ruxpin, Super Soakers and My Buddy.

Then there were the toys that you begged your parents for that didn't make them get in the car and go to the mall. Instead, they did that thing where they put their hand on their forehead and rocked back and forth. Examples of these toys include Easy Bake Oven, Baby Uh Oh, Polly Pocket, Brooke Shields Barbie, My Little Pony, Treasure Trolls and Kid Sister.

At that time, your parents were probably mostly just worried at what other parents would think about you and your girl toys. They had no idea that even then, this burning need for toys that were not only fun to play with, but also ordered an otherwise crazy domestic world, came from the same desire that would eventually lead us to getting fucked in the ass by nameless men on 500-thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets.

But even your pre-tolerance parents knew there was something gay about Skip It, and that it was a toy to be feared. Who wanted to see their child faggily frolicking with the device? Especially in front of bullies, or other types of human beings?

Your parents probably didn't buy you Skip It, but that didn't prevent you from finding it at friends' houses, or in the mystery box on the playground. And when you did, oh joy! How you skipped! You skipped and skipped! You didn't stop skipping until one day, you gaily skipped all the way to gaytown.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

So we saw "Blades of Glory" last night (trailer above). It was, in a word, glorious. It had a simple, short plot, celebrity cameos, slapstick stunts, and some really genius lines that 17-year-old boys will repeat to one another for months.

But the thing that stuck out to us most is that there aren't really any gay jokes in the movie. The writers never really went for the easy "male figure skaters are fags" punchlines. Even Jon Heder's Johnny Weir-inspired character has a female love interest. He's made fun of for looking like a girl quite frequently (because he does - his hair is amazing) but he is never called a homo. Just goes to show that if you have a clever enough writing team, you don't need to stoop to that level.

Anyway, go see the movie. We don't want to give away too much, but let's just say you see a side of Sascha Coen you never thought you'd see. And what gay could say no to that?

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

We always enjoyed reading Gayz of Our Lives, if only to see what it would be like to be a gay who actually socialized once in a while, so we are truly saddened to see that it has accidentally been deleted, especially on the blog's one year anniversary. (Oops!).

We can't say we haven't almost done this same thing numerous times when we've tried to blog drunk, which creates a slight problem, since we really have very little to say when we're sober. Bigmouth, do we have this thing backed up somewhere?

Many of you probably read Joe.My.God or Towleroad's post on Cpl. Matt Sanchez, the conservative marine who was, until yesterday, the toast of GOP pundits. Michelle Malkin posted a pic of him on her blog, and Ann Coulter posed with him gleefully. He appeared on Hannity & Colmes and The O'Reilly Factor. Then JMG revealed that he's a former gay escort and porn star. Hilarious.

Obviously, we see nothing wrong with being a gay porn star, or quite frankly, having a different political view from ours. But the Huffington Post's Max Blumenthal makes an interesting point in this story:

In my video, "CPAC 2007: The Unauthorized Documentary," I asked [Ann Coulter] how she could reconcile her defense of the sanctity of marriage with the fact that she has had three broken engagements and has never been married. She was unable to answer my question. Instead, she made an ambiguous remark about my appearance which I assume was a sarcastic insult...

Coulter refused to address the gulf between her personal life and her public persona. Any acknowledgement of this contradiction would have cast her vitriolic attacks on deviant social groups as projections of her psycho-sexual issues. Like Haggard, Gannon, Sanchez or the countless right-wing hypocrites who have come and gone over the years, Coulter's contradictions are essential to understanding her reactionary posture. She is what I would call a CCC, or a Conflicted Conservative in Crisis.

CCC's are aggressive toward groups they privately identify with, like sexual minorities or independent women, but they are simultaneously submissive to those who might otherwise persecute them. Thus, Coulter assiduously cultivated the approval of James Dobson, an anti-feminist demagogue who advocates "women's submission;" Sanchez enlisted in the Marines, then joined the right's campus culture war; and Haggard inveighed against homosexuality from the pulpit. These CCC's scurried away from freedom for the tight confines of an authoritarian movement. For CCC's, backlash politics is a crude form of therapy.

As gays, we're no stranger to the idea that someone would lash out against a group with which they secretly identify. But it seems limited to this small slice of social freedoms: sexuality, family and marriage. Dick Cheney, for example, doesn't secretly identify with illegal immigrants any more than Donald Rumsfeld secretly identifies with Shiites. The question is how to handle this issue from the other side.

Instead of tearing down conservative heroes like Sanchez when we find out their secrets, should we instead encourage them to continue to be a face for their party? After all, we're gays. We LOVE porn, and many of us may even love Sanchez specifically. He's a patriotic and loyal member of the military, a potentially excellent, real-life example of why "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" should be repealed. Would it maybe be better to leave him with the conservatives, and let them do all the talking? Instead of making ourselves hysterical, shouldn't we just wait and see what they do?

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

We attended Terrence McNally's new play "Some Men" on Sunday night with some good looking fagats readers, and, in case you couldn't guess from the show's title, the line for the men's room was about 100x longer than the women's, and we think we got felt up by a man sitting in row M. Also, we sat next to the hot bartender from Barracuda, whom we didn't recognize until CH pointed him out since we have only seen him when he was in a sleeveless shirt and we were on our 7th ruby red and soda.

Maybe "History Boys" set the bar a little too high for all male ensemble plays with gay themes, but we found that the clichés and lack of continuity of "Some Men" outweighed its funny, witty, and endearing moments. It succeeds as a broad collage of the past and present events that have shaped the gays (one review used the term "Hallmark"), and the use of the pectoral muscle and bare ass did help the level of enjoyment, but we wanted to care about both the characters and their dialogue more, which we think is possible even in a play of "scenes." It seemed as if those characters that were well written and acted (mostly those played by David Greenspan) came and went too quickly.

But the thing we did like most was the house full of (good looking!) gay men of all ages, all out to support a play for and about us. Yes, all theater is inherently gay, but overtly gay theater will always have a special place in our hearts, especially when it has a nudity warning.

We're sorry for two video posts in a row, but we've been awake since 5 am when we got up to catch our flight from Miami. We're taking French B. to a Matthew Broderick-hosted screening at Soho House tonight, followed by dinner at Keith McNally's new place Morandi with Alex R., Costas C., and Patrick H., so we should have more gay fodder tomorrow in the morning. In the meantime, please enjoy a recent clip of Charlotte Church, looking like a house, and Amy Winehouse, housed.

Monday, March 05, 2007

We saw "Music and Lyrics" last night and were brutally disappointed. It's not funny or or even touching, despite Drew Barrymore's best adorable efforts. And this is coming from die hard romantic comedy fans (we CRIED at the end of "The Holiday!" (Oh God, you never read that)). But there were approximately two minutes and twenty eight seconds of pure genius in the film, and they are above for your enjoyment.

We've been in Miami for the weekend, which also happened to be Winter Party. This means that in addition to the normal armies of hoop-earringed hoochies and the teams of silver-necklaced guidos, there were thousands and thousands of incredibly tan and muscled gay men.

The homo horde took over The DoubleTree Hotel on Collins, and by 11 in the morning on Saturday, the techno music was blaring, and the men were already dancing with their hands in the air. This continued until sundown, bathing the entirety of South Beach with pounding repetitive house music and lyrics belted by nameless powerful black women. We've never seen so many gays in one place - and outside, a crowd had gathered simply to stare.

We have to be honest - we joined the gawkers at various points, gaping in at the heaving mass of flesh. And it wasn't just because they all had amazing steriod-sculpted bodies. It was because even though they are gay and we are gay, we felt very little in common with them. It was obvious that many, if not most of them, were under the influence of much more than alcohol, and the orgy vibe was clear to even the old, retired Jews on the boardwalk.

It made us happy that there is such diversity within our minority, but it made us wonder at the social factors that created the differences. Is it because we are younger, and grew up in a time and place where we were taught that we didn't need escapes like Circuit Parties to fully embody our sexuality? Most of the people at Winter Party were probably a decade older than we are, but it's not as though there weren't people our age there - we even glimpsed a couple of people we knew in the crowd. Is it that we aren't brave enough to give ourselves over to that kind of open sexuality and enthusiasm?

Whatever the answer, we learned something very important. Clearly we should be doing this gesture a lot more:

Friday, March 02, 2007

We, along with many others, nominated a super hot librarian (Larry) at our former law school for Above the Law’s Law Librarian Hotties contest. He appears to be winning, obvi, but we encourage our readership to please vote for him in order to secure his well deserved victory. We have never spoken to Larry, but we smiled at each other many times last year, which is sort of like dating for a first year law student. We really miss him at our current school, where the librarians spend most of their time yelling at LL (at which point he yells back).

After a few weeks hiatus, we welcome you back to Fag Hag Friday. This week's edition is brought to you by one of our longest running galpals (she knew freshman year that we were fucking the upperclassman in our Spanish class before most people even knew we were gay). She's just been cast as a slutty sea creature in a show this weekend, so she's had a long week:

As I stood in line with the small Jewish children (Gooooo Purim!) at the costume store today with a red wig and seashell bra in hand (Goooo me!), I got to thinking about mermaids. And then I got to thinking about bathtubs. And then I got to thinking about the Shoop Shoop song (not the Salt N Pepa variety) and Cher, natch.

I reserve thinking for things that are fantastically irrelevant to my life.

Anyhootch, one of my favorite gays and I were recently discussing ways to commit gay "date suicide".

May I please have a definition? To knowingly and deliberate kill the date one is currently on. Could you please use it in a sentence? When Steven found out that Damian wore thong underwear, he mentioned the cold sore he'd had the day before in a heroic act of gay date suicide. Are there any alternate pronunciations? Only if you're FHC.

I figure this blog is the best place to come up with a comprehensive and easy to access list of ways to commit gay date suicide. Here are some great nominees thus far:"I just picked up a great pair of jeans at Sears.""Is this Dreamgirls a drag bar? Never heard of it.""Huh. You find that funny?....I don't know, I just don't "get" the Golden Girls.""I'm sorry, what's this Gawker you keep talking about?""I don't know where I got this shirt. Why?""Well, technically I'm bisexual..." I'm no longer sixteen, and life isn't an episode of Sex and the City, so the first-date-emergency phone call from a friend doesn't work ("He brought her carnations!"). Life's too short to date the guy with flipper hands... my advice? Don't wait 'till he's telling you he's not going. Be proactive: take your kamikaze and then be your kamikaze. Fagichiwa!

Thursday, March 01, 2007

We are super fascinated by what’s going on in Santa Rosa in California regarding the use of the phrase, "That's so gay."

When a few classmates razzed Rebekah Rice about her Mormon upbringing with questions such as, ''Do you have 10 moms?'' she shot back: ''That's so gay.'' Those three words landed the high school freshman in the principal's office and resulted in a lawsuit that raises this question: When do playground insults used all over America cross the line into hate speech that must be stamped out? After Rice got a notation in her file, her parents sued, claiming officials at Maria Carillo High violated their daughter's First Amendment rights.

In our office, there is an editor who is a friend of ours who often uses the phrase. Among our social group, we've listened to people explain several times why it's okay acceptable. There was even an article in Details giving it the thumbs up. But you know what? We don't think it's okay. We're not particularly politically correct (maybe our frequent use of phrases like "donkeypunch" and "twatermelon" tipped you off?) and we've never made a fuss about this before. But we think it's worth saying that "That's so gay" really sucks.

In our elementary public school, the special ed kids were integrated into our classrooms for most of the day, and as a result everyone stopped saying, "that's so retarded." We've never said it since. All it took was one friend in college to correct our use of the word "ghetto," for us to drop it.

The fact of the matter is when adults use "That's so gay" to describe something lame or stupid, children hear it and emulate it. Not only does it contribute to unconscious prejudice against gays, but every child who is actually struggling with his sexuality has to go through that much more pain and heartache hearing those derogatory comments all around him.

And, what's more, WE are sick and tired of it, and we're adults. We're not in support of legal battles over words, let's be clear. Say whatever you feel you need to say. But before you open your mouth to snap "That's so gay," think about whether a friend, co-worker or family member in the room is actually gay. Or even not in the room. It doesn't seem ludicrous that common courtesy and respect would make you pick a different phrase.

It should be noted that our big brother Bald Knob has always made a point to correct co-workers and friends when they say "That's so gay," even though he lives a thousand miles away from his gay little bro. And he's always been a little bit of a hero to us for it. Bald Knob has always been a great advocate, ever since he discovered our sexuality by walking in on us naked in bed with one of his best friends in our dad's house when we were 17.

Which, by the way, is proof that there are completely appropriate moments for the phrase.